carrie1977, Jan 30, 2022
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Journaling (341 words):

I didn’t grow up in this old house. But a lot of my childhood was spent here. My grandparents moved in when I was maybe 10 years old. They loved that it was on a corner lot with a decent sized backyard for all of their grandbabies to play in. Family was the most important thing to them (besides one another). They loved having everyone over for holidays and birthdays. They loved the chaos and noise. They lived for it.

This house was a safe haven for my siblings and I. When mom and dad would fight, this is where we went. They had a tumultuous relationship so they fought often. My grandparents were always there to rescue us and brought us “home” with them. We felt safe immediately.

Christmases and Thanksgivings and Easters here were some of the most amazing times. Being here with them and aunts and uncles and cousins….we looked forward to those. Barbequing in the backyards when the weather was nice. Hunting eggs in the front yard. Once we all started having families of our own their holidays were spent here also. They knew we would be at nana and papa’s house and they loved it as much as we did.

The small kitchen was usually where we headed first. There were always cookies in the cookie jar. Sodas in the fridge (mom and dad didn’t buy much of those). Usually some homemade tortillas to warm up with some butter.

When Grandma and Grandpa both passed away and we knew we would have to sell the house it hit everyone so hard. Clearing everything out was so painful. The pictures and paintings and knick-knacks had been on the walls for so long that once they were removed there were indentions and outlines of what was there all those years. Sitting on the empty living room floor reminiscing of all the years spent in that house hit me like a ton of bricks. No more holidays. No more chaos. No more safe space. Just an old, empty house.
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    Month of Challenges 10
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